


Cream and Honey

by freezingstarsandroses



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alpha Hannibal, BAMF Will Graham, Bottom Will Graham, Denial of Feelings, Hannigram - Freeform, M/M, Manipulative Hannibal, Possessive Hannibal, Resolved Sexual Tension, Self-Denial, Sexual Tension, Shy Will Graham, Someone Help Will Graham, The Author Regrets Everything, Therapy, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Will Graham-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-22
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2018-04-16 14:06:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4628106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freezingstarsandroses/pseuds/freezingstarsandroses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While in therapy with pyschologist Dr.Hannibal Lecter. Will Graham is having a hard time focusing...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cream and Honey

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic, not sure if I should expand it or not... but for now enjoy. Bon apetite ;) 
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr, request stuff, I make hannigram fanart:) https://www.tumblr.com/blog/ivyspicerose

Will paced the floor of the waiting room. 

He would concentrate this time. He would not get lost in the tall and fit man sitting in front of him-- his Therapist. 

“Damnit” he whispered. Who would describe their doctor in such a way?

His Therapist was not tall and fit, he was just his therapist. Nothing more, nothing less.

Will continued to pace in the hot waiting room.

No, not this time. He had come prepared. He wiped bit of sweat from his forhead.  
For example this morning he made certain didn't spend too much time on deciding what to wear. He told himself it was the weather outside that had him fussing with his minimalistic wardrobe. He settled for a red flannal shirt and some dark slacks. He made sure that his hair was not combed too special or anything—it was perfectly tousled. It couldnt be to clean, nor too messy, just as best as he could look without looking as if he tried too hard. Because he was not dressing for Hannibal. No, Will would'nt do those sorts of things. And this time he had a secret weapon, he looked down at his bag. 

Will exhaled and looked up. 

The ceiling of the waiting room was designed at least a century ago. It was fading slightly off colored white and aging but there was a charm in that. It held memories. Arches and carvings in the Italian style.

Although it was timeless– it was also scorching hot. 

The building was so perfectly anitquated that it hadn't central air installed in the waiting areas. 

The perfect building with the perfect office, being as hot as his shed. 

Will tried to take his mind off of the heat, he looked around the waiting room, the plush chairs and the wall accents, it was almost as luxurious as his Therapist's office.

He scoffed and looked at his wristwatch's fading leather band. Almost time to start in 1-2-- 

“Hello, William.” 

Will nearly jumps, startled, and flinches at the break in his train of thought. 

Dr. Hannibal Lecter stands beside the door of his office. An amused smirk playing on his face.

“Did I startle you?” 

Will straightens.

He scoffs and replies with a “No.” tersely. 

Of course he didn’t.

Hannibal is wearing a tan suit complete with a vest and a dark red button up dress shirt and a black red tie. Will tries to make out the pattern of tie. Before his eyes followed the windsor knot and were diverted by the thin fabric beneath it. His eyes settled on the pronounced pectoral muscles that were protruding slightly. The way they curved under his breast pocket. 

Will looked down out of fear for staring too long. 'Nice start, idiot' he mentally scolded himself. 

It could have been a fluke, Dr. Lecter would think he was just looking at his tie, after all. 

After regaining his courage he quickly looks up “Hello, Dr. Lecter” his pitch falters slightly.

Hannibal nods and walks into his office and takes a seat. 

Will follows after taking in the magnificence that was Hannibal's office. He couldn't understand the man's income and figured it was old money or such. The property in the area was relatively cheap anyway and maybe allotted him a lot of funds to lavish his office?

The tall windows, and the library like book shelves adorning the walls. The fine wood of his desk and the polished furniture. The thick cushioned couch and the chair that Hannibal sat in. It was very pretentious in the least. All of it. Hannibal's smug superior air, the way he so comfortably reclined back in his chair as Will spoke in all of his sessions. Like he was now. 

His posture has always irked him.

“ Is there anything you'd like to say, Will?”

Will looked up from the expensive leather loafer and the crossed leg on top of Hannibal's perfectly starched and creased pants.

“Nothing in partcular”

Hannibal taps his pen on his chin as he observes Will. Sitting in the chair across form him. 

Face tired, no doubt from being overworked. He pitied the poor thing. The tiredness and bags underneath his eyes, the grit in his voice and the fatigue, the lack of sleep making it a challenge for him to focus even on the sessions. The arising of his primal self. 

The way his seemingly innocent eyes flitted lower and lower than his own in the more recent sessions. The way his conscious mind weakened before him. 

Not by a physical force but the day to day circumstances that entrapped him.

Thus his defenses being drawn lower and lower until finally his vulnerability began to peak. It was dangerous, hell he was dangerous, to see him turn raw and weak.

And it would be a lie to say Hannibal didn't like him in this state.

Hannibal hummed at this. “I see.” he said not breaking contact.

Will laughed bitterly “Is that a derision of my answer?” He asks before he felt the subtle burning of his cheeks begin. His staring made him squirm, it was only a defense mechanism any of his retorts.

“Not a derision, but an acknowledgment. Or an observation” Hannibal says as he observes the beat up messenger bag Will has in his possession. It's a new addition to the sessions, from the previous leather briefcases from his work.

That's right, the notebook.

Will swallows, at the mention of the beat up bag on the spotless floor. This time he would not be distracted. 

“Yes, actually, I jotted down some notes, things I wanted to say, and whatnot. Not that big of a deal.”  
He continued.

Hannibal looks, uncrosses one leg and puts it on top of the other with a ghost of a smile on his face.

For a brief second Will swears he hears the older man chuckle. 

“Why did you feel the need to write so many notes, Will?”

It would be then when Hannibal would languidly move his foot resting on top of his knee in slow circle motions. Will's eyes would be drawn to the movement helplessly. It was his eye noticing the movement. His speech slowing as his eyes moved to Hannibal's ankles covered by the thin material of his patterned socks...It reminded him of a pendulum motion. Entrancing. The constant thought of what was underneath the fabric of his clothing. The skin of his legs, to his thighs and upward.

He looked away and offered an explanation of practicing organization. And thumbed thorough his notebook.

“ You've written all your concerns that you had not mentioned in previous sessions”

It's not a question, it's a statement. Wills large tired eyes look up from the notebook, nervouse. It's a beautiful sight, Hannibal notes, but they'd have to work on his nerves.

The perspiration starting on Wills forehead the nervous tap of his ratty boots. 

“Yes, to better organize my thoughts” Wills offers. 

To better organize his thoughts...

“I see. Have you been having trouble focusing, Will?” Hannibal asks.

Will pauses as his eyes wonder up to Hannibal’s face. The soft protrusion of his cheek bones, the curve of his lips, the twinkle in his eyes. The smooth brown beige tone of his skin. The subtle steadying gaze, the control, the statuesque man in front of him. Muscled and a chiseled, touched by age. The smell of pine and copper, the smell of Hannibal.

Yes, he was.

“Yes” he manages his voice rising“ I mean... work has been life sucking...and more demanding. The strays are having a hard time accepting a new comer, Harvey but I'd like to think -”

“Is that all, Will?”

Hannibal asks as he leans forward. 

The question carries an implication of sorts, one that wasnt expected and catches him off guard. 

It's as if time is slowing down, in a agonizingly slow manor. Will tries to grab at his conscious but finds himself falling into his subconscious again. 

Pouring slow and falling further into the peculiar mixture that was Hannibal.

Will stammers and begins messily flipping through the pages he'd written in his notebook.

“I believe that is all—well perhaps more on the mock case...” he says looking down ashamed reddening. 

Hannibal takes notice. He always does of his prey. Will especially. He folds Will's nervousness, takes in his stammering form and folds him more and more into this moment, into his session, into him. 

“Will, how long have you had trouble focusing?”

He grows tired and stressed in front of him, how did he do this to him? He cant say since he noticed how Hannibal looked at him . 

He hears his voice go up a few pitches as he offers an excuse and the scent of arousal rises and then fear. Hannibal inhales it deeply. 

His arousal like the musk of grass in the spring. His fear like a bird with a broken wing watching as a predator closes in, eyes widening - a very beautiful sight indeed. His mind's comprehension of him caught in his arousal conjured the image of thick and slow honey pouring.

Will doesnt know how to speak now. As Hannibal walks closer to him. They both stare. Heavy excited and tired blue, meets dark famish, wrinkles of age forming around them . Blue and brown, Brown and blue. 

Will waits... Wanting. 

It is then when when Hannibal removes a handkerchief from his breast pocket and then hands it to Will.

“It seems you've broken into a sweat William, I do apologize for the temperature rising in the office” he says.

Will stares an nods and shakingly takes the handkerchief, cheeks red as he looks down, seeing the ever growing bulge in his pants. Shit! He fidgets.

“ I must get the air fixed then. Are we set for next Friday, was it?” He smiles briefly looking down at Will's pants. 

The bastard. He's enjoying this...to Will's utter embarrassment.

He stammers a “Y-yes sounds good” putting away his notebook and bag in discomfort and looks up as Hannibal sits and watches him. Will stares up at him, they are looking at each other again. 

Idiot, idiot, idiot. Will scolds metally.

Will looks down quickly embarrassed.

As he tries to use his bag to cover his embarrassment. How would they complete the next session now? He glances up and Hannibal is staring. He doesn’t try to think about what had just transpired and turns to leave the office. Hannibal still watching 

“H-have a good evening'” he says lowly without meeting his eyes and briskly walks past Hannibal toward the door.

He comes in strong and apathetic and leaves feeling weaker, pathetic, almost like a child he thinks as he closes the door slowly behind him.

Hannibal, who had not moved the whole time sat staring at the seat across from him, eyes never leaving the spot where Will had just sat.


End file.
